To Be Held Responsible
by AcaigaWrites
Summary: Skulduggery Pleasant had made many mistakes. Bringing Valkyrie into the supernatural world might just have been one of them. But he'll be damned if he wasn't glad that she was here with him.


To Be Held Responsible

Over the years, he'd been told the same thing.

A mantra of words that melded together until they were unintelligible, undifferentiated. Advice and discouragement of his actions, though surely by now his friends and acquaintances should know that he was never one to be told how to act or how to live out his so-called life.

" _She's a child. Bringing her into this will get her killed, and then that's another death on your bloody hands, Pleasant_."

He hadn't listened, had instead ignored those wise words and followed his own instinct as he always did, because Skulduggery Pleasant was a man of excellent intuition and took no advice unless he requested it. Previous partners had died, like the boy he had told his own dear partner about all those years ago. He had been young, just as she had been. Just as she still was.

Valkyrie Cain. A spirited and fiery young woman of no fool's disposition, full of vibrance and energy. She sparked like flame and flashed like lightning, igniting the long-dormant ethos within his empty ribcage. All dark eyes and dark hair, with a presence that dominated a room within seconds of her entrance. She was strong, intelligent, with a wit sharper than a knife and a seemingly unbreakable spirit.

Or, she had been.

Maybe he should have listened. Twelve entire years ago, he had allowed her into his world of destruction, of blood and heartbreak and pain. A world he'd known his entire life, and was used to. She hadn't been. Twelve-year-old Stephanie Edgeley, a replica of her dead uncle's persona, somewhat of a brat yet with unthinkable resilience. She'd surpassed his expectations - surpassed _everyone's_ expectations - and gone even further.

It was his fault that it had turned out this way.

Innocent Stephanie Edgeley turned to the infamous Valkyrie Cain, who turned to Darquesse. The girl who loved her family, but desired something more, and gripped it with ready hands the moment it was presented to her. It had been about becoming the hero at first, but later she was only trying to keep herself from becoming the villain. He thought back on it, how he could have prevented it all had he just turned away that day that he'd saved her; he could have called in Geoffrey Scrutinous, erased her memory, and she would have lived a regular life in her beloved home in North-County Dublin.

He was a selfish man. Perhaps not so selfish as China Sorrows, but selfish regardless. It was his fault that he had ruined her chance at normality. His fault that, no matter how he tried, she would never be the same. The spark was diminished, the flame distinguished and the light faded from those once bright eyes. He knew it, her parents knew it, and even her sister knew it - little Alice Edgeley, who would never know that her own sister couldn't look her in the eyes because of what she had become.

Could Valkyrie Cain come back to him? Maybe time would tell, and he was certainly determined. He couldn't right his mistakes, but he could try to mend them piece by piece. He'd bring her back, no matter how difficult it would be. At the age of fifteen, she had walked fearlessly into literal Hell to find him. He would do the same for her, because her kind of aftermath hell was similar to the one he had experienced in the war.

He believed she deserved a second chance, even if she didn't.

"Skulduggery? We're out of milk - hey, are you okay? You aren't meditating, are you?"

He looked up, snapped from his depressing trance. "Don't be silly. You're like an elephant. No such thing as meditation when you're in the immediate vicinity."

"Your words wound me," Valkyrie grinned, and his non-existent heart leapt at the flash of his partner's old personaliy. "But, seriously, you don't have milk, and it's causing me problems. I can't drink my tea."

If he'd had eyes, he'd be rolling them. "I get by just fine without it. Stop your whining."

"If we don't have milk, then I'll have to go to Gordon's, where I have lots of milk and food, and my bed, and-"

"You would leave," Skulduggery said slowly, "because I haven't bought milk in the last... how long? A day? Christ, Valkyrie, this is becoming a problem. Maybe we should talk to China about a patch sigil. Like for nicotine, only for tea."

"You're hilarious. A real comedian."

"I try my best."

"That's what concerns me."

Skulduggery waved a hand dismissively. "We can get some milk in a bit, then."

Valkyrie shrugged, and sat on the sofa nearby. The television was on, playing an old Noir film that looked like it belonged in the dark ages, as Valkyrie had once told him. Personally he loved it, partially because it featured Grace Kelly. "Are you watching this _again_? I feel like you might be a little bit addicted to it. We should watch something funny. How does _Gogglebox_ sound?"

"Hm," he responded, not entirely listening, still somewhat wrapped up in his thought track. "Whatever you want, my dear."

"Alright," Valkyrie said loudly, and he shook his skull to snap out of his daze. "There's something wrong with you. Talk to me."

"About..?"

"About _this_ ," she said, gesticulating wildly to the space surrounding him. "About your... wistfulness."

"That's a big word for a saturday, Valkyrie."

"Uh, you're an idiot," she smiled softly, reaching over her sofa's arm to swipe his hat from his head. "But you're my idiot." She put the hat on, looking somewhat odd in her creased and oversized football jersey and leggings, complete with his own wide-brimmed fedora. His hats did suit her, though, even when she was in her pyjamas.

"Hmph," he said simply, unable somehow to muster a decent comeback. "Valkyrie, we do need to talk."

"Uh oh. And here I am, thinking that's pretty much all we do everyday. Talk."

"I'm serious," he said almost imploringly. "It's about you. Also me, but mainly you."

Valkyrie fell still for a moment. Then she tucked her legs under her and set her chin on her folded arms, resting them on the arm of the sofa. "OK. I'm all ears."

"You haven't... you haven't been the same Valkyrie," he said, his voice low as he leant his arms against his knees, folding his hands. "You've come home, here to Ireland, but you aren't entirely there."

"I..." The faint traces of familiar humour had faded. "You know I can't help it. I'm trying. I promise you, Skulduggery, I _am_ , but it's hard. It's so damn hard. But, hey... is this what you were all quiet about? Me not giving off my usual amazing vibes?" There they were again, the weak attempts at the old wit.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Valkyrie. Yes, it was. I'm really quite worried about you." He sat forward a little, eyesockets focusing intently on the dark brown eyes that stared back. She looked younger in this light - thanks to the surge, her physical growth had slowed right down, and so despite her age of twenty-four, she still looked eighteen. He remembered her irritation about the constant request for ID when buying even the simplest of age-restricted items, like a can of beer.

Her gaze softened, and she stood, walking forward until she could half sit on the arm of Skulduggery's armchair. "You don't have to worry," she said gently, and he couldn't help but feel that this was so unlike her, so unordinary for her to act so docile around him. "You don't have to go worrying about me, because I'm fine. I'm better here, being with you. It's much less lonely. Like you said, if I spend too much time alone, I'll be starved of intelligent conversation, right?"

"Right," he responded in a lower pitch of his baritone than usual. Her eyes looked tired, and somewhat sad. Some irrational part of him deemed it acceptable to reach up to her face and gently move a stray hair beneath the fedora behind her ear. "Are you really sure? You mentioned the panic attacks, and I know they hit you hard. If you stay here awhile, at least I can keep an eye out for you."

"I'm okay," she muttered, and reached her own hand up to meet the one Skulduggery had rested against her cheek. She twined her fingers with his as her palm met the back of his gloved bones. "Please, don't worry."

"I can't help it, Valkyrie. I've spent the last twelve years doing just that, especially during these last five." He ran a skeletal thumb along her cheek bone, and she leant into his hand.

"Well, stop. I'm going to make a promise, right here and now, that if I have any worries or doubts, any at all, I'll come straight to you. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied softly. "Okay."

On a slight impulse it seemed, she cupped his jaw and pressed her lips tenderly against his teeth. He stilled for a very brief moment, then relaxed, allowing the kiss in spite of his physical inability to respond to it. All he could do was wrap his free arm around her waist to pull her a little closer.

As she pulled away again, she rested her forehead against his, ignoring the way that the fedora was knocked slightly off-balance. "Now," she murmured. "Stop. Your. Worrying."

"I'll certainly try. And, Valkyrie?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry. For everything."

A lot of this was his fault, that he was sure of. But he'd be damned if he wasn't at least a little glad that this incredible woman had wandered into his life.


End file.
